Beyond the Veil
by Puddlemore United
Summary: His disastrous duel with Bellatrix was not the end for Sirius Black. Now, given another chance by powers he can't understand, he is left to struggle in a world without magic.
1. Chapter 1

- Prologue -

The Gates of Time

Harry seized Neville by the shoulder of his robes and lifted him bodily onto the first tier of stone steps; Neville's legs twitched and jerked and would not support his weight; Harry heaved again with all the strength he possessed and they climbed another step -

A spell hit the stone bench at Harry's heel; it crumbled away and he fell back to the step below. Neville sank to the ground, his legs still jerking and thrashing, and he thrust the prophecy into his pocket.

'Come on!' said Harry desperately, hauling at Neville's robes. 'Just try and push with your legs – '

He gave another stupendous heave and Neville's robes tore all along the left seam – the small spun-glass ball dropped from his pocket, and before either of them could catch it, one of Neville's floundering feet kicked it: it flew some ten feet to their right and smashed on the step beneath them. As both of them stared at the place where it had broken, appalled at what had happened, a pearly-white figure with hugely magnified eyes rose into the air, unnoticed by any but them. Harry could see its mouth moving, but in all the crashes and screams and yells surrounding them, not one word of the prophecy could he hear. The figure stopped speaking and dissolved into nothingness.

'Harry, I'b sorry!' cried Neville, his face anguished as his legs continued to flounder. 'I'b so sorry, Harry, I didn't bean to –'

'It doesn't matter!' Harry shouted. 'Just try and stand, let's get out of –'

'Dubbledore!' Said Neville, his sweaty face suddenly transported, staring over Harry's shoulder.

'What?'

'DUBBLEDORE!'

Harry turned to look where Neville was staring. Directly above them, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Harry felt a kind of electric charge surge through his body – _they were saved_.

Dumbledore sped down the steps past Neville and Harry, who had no more thoughts of leaving. Dumbledore was already at the foot of the steps when the Death Eaters nearest realised he was there and yelled to the others. One of the Death Eaters ran for it, scrabbling like a monkey up the stone steps opposite. Dumbledore's spell pulled him back as easily and effortlessly as though he had hooked him with an invisible line –

Only one pair was still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light; he was laughing at her.

'Come on, you can do better than that!' he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.

The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest.

The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock.

Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore, too, turned towards the dais.

It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil hanging from the arch.

Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind, then fell back into place.

* * *

Fear and surprise battled for supremacy as Sirius felt himself falling past the strange veil behind him. Shocked as he was that Bellatrix had so easily gotten the better of him, he wasn't prepared for the sudden, hard landing, nor for the soft, feminine laugh which followed.

'Perhaps not the most graceful I've seen, but that was certainly an original entrance, Mr. Black.'

Jumping to his feet, Sirius pivoted quickly, grateful that he was still gripping his wand tightly, and pointed it at the tall woman hidden in the shadowy mist before him. She laughed again, a harsher, mocking sound this time, but he didn't relax his stance. Whatever it was that Bellatrix had hit him with, he was lucky it hadn't done more than throw him into a curtain; he wasn't about to try pushing his luck now, when he had a godson to worry about –

'Harry!' he yelled, turning about wildly, looking for the curtain that would lead him back to the atrium, and to Harry, who still needed him.

Finally, after what seemed like a hundred centuries, he stopped, defeated. Wherever he was, and however his cousin had sent him here, there was no way out. There was nothing, nothing but an eternal reddish-grey haze of swirling fog and mist, and that ever-present woman, watching him.

'You can't go back, you know,' the voice interrupted, sounding infinitely sad this time. It only served to anger Sirius, and he stormed to where the figure waited, shoving his wand against her throat, hard.

'You seem to know so much,' he growled, sounding more like his animagus form than ever, 'tell me how I get out of here; where is the Ministry?'

The woman neither moved nor spoke, and Sirius felt himself slowly intimidated by her strange garnet gaze. She seemed to be measuring him slowly, taking stock of every moment of his life, and deciding for herself his worth. It was then that he noticed her strange attire, and the large rod she held loosely at her side, shaped like a key, with a deep garnet orb on the top.

'How do I get back?' he whispered hoarsely, though he knew the answer already. She had told him, after all: there was no way back.

'I don't know why, exactly, Mr. Black, but the Queen has taken a special interest in you. For her sake alone have I allowed you here; the Gates of Time welcome no visitors.' The red-eyed, black-haired woman continued softly, almost as if she was explaining for her own benefit, rather than his.

_The Gates of Time,_ Sirius wondered to himself, but kept his mouth shut. It would do no good to interrupt the woman before she had a chance to tell him anything. If only there was a way back to the Ministry…

'I am sure you don't appreciate what it cost me to interrupt your own Time Stream and rescue you from the veil, before you were completely destroyed. But for her sake, and with my Lord's permission, I have done so, and you are spared, Mr. Black.' She paused again, seemingly unsure of her next words, then continued. 'Never before have I allowed a mortal to leave one Stream and enter another. Understand that this is a gift, and understand that the life you once lived is no more. Sirius Black, wizard and fugitive is dead. He is mourned by those who loved him, and forgotten by those who did not. It is another Sirius Black I address now, another England for which you are intended. This world into which you will pass is quite different from the one you have left behind, and you will need to become quite used to it: you will spend the rest of your life there.'

The woman began to walk, her long, swift strides forcing Sirius into a quick jog to catch up with her.

'I do not have the time to explain any further, Mr. Black, the rest you will discover on your own, save this. Magic is a thing of the past. Forget it if you will, dwell on it if you cannot, but do not speak of it, and do not attempt it. Spirits you cannot contend with have dominion over this world, and you would undoubtedly be destroyed, whether you realised it or no. For your sake, Mr. Black, let it lie.'

Whatever her intended destination had been, apparently they had reached it, though it looked identical to where they had been standing. Slowly the woman raised her staff, and the garnet orb seemed to glow from within; the mist swirled as though a giant wind had parted it, revealing a magnificent silver gate, more splendid than anything he had ever seen before. From around her waist, the woman removed a belt of keys, selecting a small silver one. It looked old and tarnished, but Sirius didn't refuse it when she handed it to him with a cryptic smile.

'All you need do is unlock the gates, and step through them, Mr. Black. Then you will have a life again; though you may find it quite different from the one you are used to. Oh,' she added suddenly, sounding genuinely surprised, and reaching beside her into thin air, 'these are for you as well.' Here her voice softened once more, and she ignored Sirius's stunned stare as she pulled several aged, leather books from nowhere. 'You can never return from whence you came, but that doesn't mean you have to forget it entirely. Psyche thought you would need these; perhaps they will help you.'

Unsure of himself, Sirius took the stack of books cautiously, then lifted the key to the gates. They opened towards him far more swiftly than he had anticipated, and he had to jump out of the way to avoid being hit. There was a strange, fierce wind blowing from behind the gates, and he had to steel himself against it to avoid being sucked past the towering shadows.

His fear must have shown on his face, for the woman stepped towards him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He felt suddenly insubstantial, as though she were so much more real than him, and her slim hand was incredibly heavy, painful almost, as it weighed him down. Finally, she broke the contact, and he couldn't help sighing in relief.

'I will try and help you as I am able, Mr. Black, but please understand that I have duties I must attend to, and cannot be called simply on a whim of yours. Should you truly need me, however, I will find you.'

'Yes,' he shouted over the wind, his apprehension increasing a thousand fold as he realised she meant for him to pass through the gate, 'but who are you? I don't even know your name!'

'Saturn,' she replied, pushing him through the gate none too gently, her expression beautiful in its serenity and almost-nostalgia. 'Call me Saturn.'


	2. Chapter 2

- Chapter One –

Ghosts of the Past

A clock struck, somewhere down a darkened hallway, but Sirius paid it no mind. He had been standing in place by hours, unable to force himself to move, convinced that if he only waited long enough, he'd find himself with Harry again. Time was steadily proving him wrong, a fact he tried to push from his thoughts, only to find that he couldn't.

He could almost hear Hermione Granger scolding him in her persistently snippy tones as his legs buckled, and despite himself, Sirius laughed, growing hysterical. 'Two years, and all I've found is a new Azkaban: a world without magic, without the Order…without Harry. What was the point of escaping in the first place? Tell me!' he screamed, to no one in particular, 'Tell me what I'm doing here! Wasn't thirteen years of hell enough? What more do I have to pay for?'

The silence of the unlit room seemed suddenly overwhelming, and Sirius wished for the ability to turn into his animagus form once again. His dog self, the chance to lose his more complicated thoughts and emotions, it was something he had desperately needed since that fifth year at Hogwarts; it was his escape. But it was no longer available to him, if Saturn, strange as she was, could be trusted.

'What, in the name of Merlin and Circe am I supposed to do now?'

Still there was no answer, aside from the hooting of a distant owl. The reminder of the life he had only just lost was too painful to consider any longer, and he let his head fall back against the wall. There simply wasn't anything left.

* * *

Light from the far window burned against his eyelids as Sirius struggled to move from where he sat, sprawled against the wall. His neck ached, and his right shoulder felt strangely tight, but other than that, he was fine. And then he remembered…

'Harry!'

Before he had a chance to so much as stand up, Sirius knew it was useless. He hadn't been able to find a way back the night before, when in the presence of someone who'd actually seemed to understand what was going on, and he certainly hadn't discovered any new means of return in the hours he had slept. The memory of the fight in the Ministry, and of his short-lived duel with Bellatrix ran in an endless loop while he tried to take in his new surroundings, and for once, Sirius could see the arrogance Snape always attacked him for.

_If I'd taken the time to think about Harry, instead of just running after my bloody cousin –_

Then what? The question begged to be asked, regardless of how ill-prepared Sirius felt to answer it. He knew what the veil was, what falling through it could do to a wizard. The strange meeting with that Saturn person and her Gates of Time aside, he was almost surprised someone hadn't fallen through beforehand, battling in front of the dais the way they all had. But what if he hadn't fallen, what if Bellatrix had missed? What would he be doing now, if only he had been a little bit more aware of his surroundings, or had stopped to think before rushing in after the mad LeStrange witch? Would he still be with the others, with Harry and Remus and Dumbledore – or would he simply have passed on a little later in the fight?

Feeling a small rush of the anger that had so overwhelmed him the night before, and determined not to lose control like that again – it reminded him frightfully of the days following James and Lily's murders – Sirius forced himself to ignore the questions, and focus instead on taking in his new environs. Room by room, he struggled to compose himself, his imposing surroundings making the task only slightly easier: the massive stone fireplace in the third room he checked made him remember talking with Harry by Floo; the expensive portraits that lined one hall nearly could have been completed by the man who'd painted three generations of Blacks; then finally, there was the striking black marble statue just in front of the long-dead gardens, a statue of a tall woman, with long, graceful hair, and knee-high boots, a woman with a strange toga-like dress, and a key-shaped staff.

The statue itself was enough to send him from the room, his pace quite fast enough to be considered a run, though he refused to admit as much to himself. After a few moments, he found himself standing in a library of sorts, dark and musty, windowless, with only a small fire providing any light. The sheer number of books was a wonder, more than he'd ever seen anywhere outside of Hogwarts, and Sirius was suddenly proud of himself for not wincing at the memory of the school – his school.

At once, a thousand souvenirs of what had been his life threatened to assault his mind, but he struggled against them. Never again would he let himself be caged in his memories. Azkaban should have taught him that lesson, but he'd let it happen again at Grimmauld Place. It was time he gave them up, as best he could, let them go, throw them away if they wouldn't leave on their own.

With that thought held foremost in his mind, the leather books from Saturn were stuffed in the nearest drawer, underneath a small stack of strange, thin papers, entirely unlike the parchment he'd used all his life. His robes would need to change immediately, as well, as he'd never met a Muggle dressed as he was – and come to think of it, he needed a shave and a haircut rather desperately, too. And some food, a chance at exercise, a means of income, most likely, a hobby… The list of what he was going to need was becoming a little intimidating, and Sirius forced his mind from it. There was plenty of time to worry over all that he didn't possess – only the thoughts of a shower and food mattered. Everything else could wait.

* * *

Wait it did, for over three hours, as Sirius showered twice, slipped into a robe that hung overlarge around his thin body, and wolfed down almost an entire loaf of bread that an unknown someone had left sitting on the kitchen counter.

For some reason he couldn't quite identify, Sirius had no questions as to whether or not the house was his. It was his, and so was everything in it, and that was simply the way the world worked. His logic was fuzzy, he knew, but it all worked out the same, and frankly, he was too tired to care about why. There were too many other mysteries to occupy his mind, in any case, too many meaningless questions to ponder, in the hopes that they'd keep his mind from a youth of fifteen, with hopeless black hair, winning green eyes, and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

Shaking his head determinedly, he stood and made his way to the lawns outside the kitchen. Unlike the gardens out front, they weren't quite so dead, and something told him that what little he'd picked up in Herbology might actually be useful. After all, before they'd been allowed to deal with venomous tentaculas and the like, there had been a solid year of basic gardening and botany.

Besides, gardening looked like it could be fun. He'd never tried it before, and he had been wanting a hobby…

* * *

Two hours later, having waged desperate battle against every weed army in existence, Sirius wasn't so sure gardening was the hobby for him. Professor Sprout's lawns were always well-kempt, cooperative, really. The devious enemy right outside his kitchen door, on the other hand, was not.

Sirius moped as he soaked his hands in Epsom salt. It wasn't that he'd expected his little venture in gardening to replicate his old Herbology classes – James and Remus weren't there, after all – but he hadn't expected it to be so much work. It was almost as bad as cleaning up Grimmauld Place had been, now that he thought about it. All drudge work, and nothing to stimulate his mind, it was exactly the kind of work he most detested. Of course, it was exactly the kind of work he would have been immersed in, had he actually still been in Grimmauld Place; furious, Sirius struck the thought from his mind.

How was he supposed to do this? What had Saturn been thinking, dragging him from the Ministry to this, this place lacking everything for which he lived? There was nothing left to him; it was as simple as that. James and Lily had been gone for so long, he half wondered if they'd ever existed. And now, with Remus and Harry lost to him forever as well…was it possible he'd imagined the whole thing? Had there ever been a wizarding world, a Harry Potter, an Albus Dumbledore? The thought that he'd created such an imaginary world sickened him, and Sirius grabbed his head. He couldn't function like this – it was worse than Azkaban! It was the kind of twisted, tormenting situation Snape would have wished on him, only now Sirius wasn't so certain there ever had been a Snape to wish it in the first place. Could he have simply woken up from a particularly strong delusion – in which he was a talented and powerful wizard, godfather to an entire people's virtual salvation? Could everything he remember, every person he had ever loved, every cause he had ever believed in – could it all have been no more than his own deluded imaginings?

It was the single most terrifying thought he'd ever entertained.

Yet it gripped his mind, refusing to let go, refusing to allow him peace. He couldn't work it out, either way, and he felt that perhaps that uncertainty was worst of all. Was James his friend, closer than even his brother had been, or had both James and Regulus been names and people he's simply made up himself? And what about everyone else – Snape, Lily, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Dumbledore, Mundungus, Molly, Peter, Aubrey Bertram, that stupid twit he and James hexed that year, and what about Tonks, that amazing cousin of his? Could anyone have made up someone like Nymphadora Tonks? And what person, in creating an imaginary history, would give themselves thirteen years in a place like Azkaban?

Those thoughts were comforting, reassuring. He'd thought himself crazy before, in that forsaken prison and he'd pulled himself through it. True, only thoughts of revenge had helped then, but he would find something to help now, and he'd get through it again. He'd get through it because he had to, because he _would_ be the one Black who amounted to something good, and he'd find a way to get back to Harry. He'd find a way if it killed him, because he was as good as dead without that godson of his, anyways.

Sirius smiled grimly, and pulled up a seat at the kitchen table. He didn't have anything even nearing a plan, and he didn't have a single reason to hope he would ever reach his goal, but he had a goal, and it was enough. If he remembered correctly, escaping Azkaban was beyond impossibility when he'd slipped out those gates, only three years previous. How much more difficult could slipping through a Time Stream be?


End file.
